


Take the World and Redefine It.

by Omega_To_Alpha



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alpha P.T. Barnum, Alpha Phineas, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Omega Phillip, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega_To_Alpha/pseuds/Omega_To_Alpha
Summary: Phillip presents as an Omega. When he's twenty his family finds him a suitable match. For them at least.But during that first date, at a ballet recital, Phillip finds someone much more attractive who offers a way to freedom.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 7
Kudos: 105





	Take the World and Redefine It.

Before he joined the circus, Phillip’s life had been restricted and dictated, but predictable. That in itself should have allowed Phillip a sense of belonging which comes with true security. And to an extent, that had been true. Until Phillip’s fifteenth birthday when he had presented as an Omega, the first in the Carlyle family for as far back as their lineage could be traced. On that morning he had woken with a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, with sweat on his brow and an aching need for something that he couldn’t place. 

Three days had passed full of shame, tears, slick, and a pining for an unknown alpha. Phillip’s body ached and his head felt dazed, yet still his father commanded him to the study. The maids of the household had brought a basin to his bedroom; their faces flushed with blushes, eyes downcast, only to be followed by hushed whispers when they thought Phillip wasn’t listening. Before Phillip could order them away, they’d stripped the bed. The sheets were pulled roughly but the embarrassing stains of slick were folded on top, carefully presented as humiliating proof of Phillip’s presentation. When the maids had left, their demeanour somehow more confident, more dismissive of Phillip, he had picked up the washcloth and began to wash himself. 

The cloth was made of soft wool, imported from the rich pastures of England yet it felt harsh and brittle against Phillip’s sensitive skin. The cool water was blissful though and he allowed the droplets to run down his chest and breakdown the sweat and slick of the previous days. The sound of china clinking downstairs spurred Phillip on, and before he could truly enjoy the refreshing water he was dried and dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt. 

As only a true aristocrat, his father’s countenance and posture gave away nothing. To any other onlookers, staff of the household included, this was purely a social call for morning tea. But Phillip knew better. Only the flush to his father’s cheeks and the white spread of his knuckles as he gripped the teacup gave anything away. Seconds passed in silence, broken only by his father stirring sugar into his tea. Although parched from the past few days, Phillip wouldn’t allow his father the satisfaction of seeing his trembling hands as he reached for tea. Instead his fingers remained clenched together in his lap. 

Finally his father placed the used teaspoon on the saucer. “As you are aware, you presented three days ago.”

Phillip nodded. At his father’s intense gaze, he answered, “Yes Sir.” His voice held and did not tremble. Brutal lessons were not easily forgotten. 

“An Omega. A first for the Carlyle’s.” The teacup was raised to his father’s lips. A small sip and contented hum. “An abomination.” 

Beneath Phillip’s trained gaze he could see the ornate yet subtle floral print on the pristine tablecloth. The flowers were scarce yet their stems interlinked, broken only by delicate pieces of blue and white china. His father’s words barely pierced Phillip’s purposeful daze, so used as he was to misery and disappointment within his father’s voice. 

“Although useful.” The tone gave away his father’s though process, one which had clearly started the day Phillip’s temperature had soared and the ache in his stomach had commenced. “For when you turn twenty, you’ll marry and Alpha. Of course it will be my choice. And a profitable one at that.”

The day after that conversation Phillip’s routine household life had changed. What was once lessons in aristocracy, science, and business was replaced with the running of a household, languages, and petit point. Phillip’s favourite books of chemistry and physics, their pages dog eared and words memorised, were swiftly removed by the maids. The tailor had been summoned and his clothes had been altered; narrower at the waist with more flare at the hips to accentuate his new biology. 

The visit to the apothecary with his mother had been a further humiliation. For since his presentation, the barely there minimal scent of holly had bloomed into something more fragrant and floral. Distinctly Omega, and not suitable for a Carlyle. So now, hidden in a discreet pocket within his newly tailored clothes were herbs that stung Phillip’s nose but counteracted the floral scent to make a cloying scent of nothing. No matter how much Phillip tried, the scent remained strong and he could not get used to it. It was wrong. 

The only goodness from that trip was the new fountain pen his mother has purchased him, with black ink which flowed freely with the lightest of pressures. The matching book was made with fine leather, and the pages crisp and fresh. Along with it, Phillip’s mother had bought him a copy of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. 

When his father had questioned the purchases with a grunt, she had smiled softly. “Philip is learning languages now, and who better to learn from that Shakespeare?”

The play had quickly become one of Phillip’s favourites. 

/////

“Father, I would like to become a playwright.” Three years of Omega lessons have corrected Phillip’s posture; his hands are clasped behind his back, eyes downcast. The perfect demeanour of submissive and meek. Addressing his father directly was a broken rule, but Phillip was unaware of how else to raise the statement. A statement. Another broken rule for an Omega should never be sure, or confident, within their own thoughts and abilities. Better left to their Alpha.

Those broken rules in mind, Phillip made sure to stand out with direct striking distance. 

His father was sat with his mother, ignoring her in favour of the newspapers clasped in his hands. The newspaper was still new, his father thankfully only three pages in. On the fourth, Phillip’s disobedience would be clear. 

“Don’t be stupid boy.”

“Harry,” his mother’s spoken hush appears to ease the situation. From the corner of his eye, Phillip sees her place a gentle hand on his father’s arm. “I think you should listen to Phillip.” 

The soft confidence within his mother’s voice, gives Phillip a confidence which forces his shoulders back and raises his eyes to the top of the table. His mother is the epitome of Omega; beautiful, meek and adoring of her husband but she has always found ways to sneak tender moments to Phillip. The fountain pen, bought when Phillip was fifteen, has led to a life of hidden stories on crisp pages of leather-bound books. And one of those, a play of unrequited love and tragedy spun from page to page; fuelled by Phillip’s own fears of his future.

His mother had found the play. When Phillip had cried and begged, had been violently ill with fear, she had held him and shushed him. Rocked him until his father had returned, and then hidden the leather-bound book beneath Phillip’s mattress.

She had been the one to post it to the competition within the newspaper. The results of which were announced on page four of the newspaper within his father’s hand. 

“Thank you, mother.” Phillip’s palms were sweaty and his face felt flushed under the full attention of both of his parents. His thoughts raced and dived within his mind, so unlike the words which flowed on his papers. “I would like to become a playwright. Since I began learning languages, I found I have a liking to directing- “He paused. Directing was too much of an alpha word… “A liking to creativity, and my words flow well with structure and poise.”

“And how would that look to your future husband?” The words were filled with disdain. Anything that would hinder Phillip’s profitability would be seen as an untrustworthy and a disgrace to the family name. “Omegas do not work or own their own income.”

Having anticipated this argument, Phillip continued: “I feel my worth would increase, father. It would be easy advertisement of my status, and an Alpha would welcome the challenge of making an Omega submit.” The words were like poison on Phillip tongue, but he was willing if only to grasp some freedom. “You of course, as my Alpha, would receive my income.”

Phillip sensed his father’s astute flair for business. “And how do you propose you would enter this scene?”

“If you would turn to page four of the newspaper, father.” Phillip swallowed thickly and dared to raise his eyes to meet the cool grey of his father’s. “I won the competition. My play has been accepted and is to be performed at the local theatre for ten shows.”

/////

Over and under, and with a gentle pull the white bow tie was secured at the neck of Phillip’s crisp white shirt. With one hand he slipped the tails of the shirt within his black dress trousers, before smoothing the fabric over his thighs and buttocks to ensure a seamless finish. Dim light bounced back from the floor length mirror and illuminated the small silver cuff links at his wrists. A whale bone comb lay discarded at the dresser, a pot of wax haphazardly twisted shut beside it. The scented pouch, now so familiar to Phillip, remained in the top drawer of his dresser. 

As his stomach churned in revolt, Phillip raised his eyes to assess his appearance. As usual his honey brown hair was styled neatly, with each strand combed to perfection. The dress shirt his mother had chosen clung to Phillip’s narrow shoulders and the black trousers accentuated the swell of his buttocks. The clothing was perfect for the occasion; his father had excelled himself with the money at Phillip’s disposal. 

But Phillip’s face remained pale, a sickly sheen to his forehead that even his mother’s blotting powder couldn’t remove. Phillip’s cheeks were flushed with heat, a stark contrast the white pallor of his skin. His lips, usually a vibrant pink were chapped and bitten – the skin hard and fragmented. Despite cold water and gentle woollen clothes, Phillips eyes remained puffy and red from his vulnerable state and tearful reaction to the news received last night. 

Last night was his twentieth birthday, and as promised his father had found him an Alpha. Phillip knew he should not be shocked, but the tiny freedom given by his successful playwright career had allowed him to forget, had allowed him to hope that the money he provided his father would be enough to forgo the marriage contact. Unable to be comforted at the thought of being spirited away and hidden in a manor house as a broodmare, Phillip had left his father’s study stunned and spent the remainder of the night in the privacy of his room. Where the tears fell unheard and unheeded. 

At the thought, tears welled in Phillip’s eyes but he brushed them away quickly. Before he could worry about his situation further, he shrugged into his black jacket and grabbed his red silk scarf for warmth. 

Ballet recitals weren’t known to be the warmest of places.

People were gathered in the room for drinks of champagne before that ballet recital began. It was busy but not overly so, allowing Phillip’s parents a full view of the room and their son with his prospective match. For once, Phillip was grateful for hi parent’s overprotective nature for it gave him a sense of security and safety with his new guest. 

The Alpha in front of him was Daniel Byrne, an elderly Alpha closer in age to his father than Phillip. Byrne’s hair was a dark grey colour mottled only with dark brown which hinted at its previous colouration. Severe lines around Byrne’s eyes and mouth told of a stern and harsh personality. A brief look at his intended’s face, told Phillip of green eyes which in another light would have been attractive but the snarl hidden within quickly had Phillip’s eyes lowering to the ground and apologising for his behaviour. 

Phillip’s eyes remained trained on the ground, and he spoke only when spoken to. Which wasn’t often. Byrne was prestigious and proud of his accomplishments within the factories and workhouses. The latest expansion had gone well, but he was embarrassed at the loss of staff to the new circus. The word was said with disgust. In any other situation, Phillip would have asked more about this new circus, but the man had heavy golden rings on his hands and aristocracy did not think twice of public behavioural corrections. 

“Obviously you’ll be aware that should I accept you, your hobby as a playwright will cease.” 

So unused to being spoken to directly, Phillip failed to immediately respond. A sharp nudge to his side by Byrne had him coughing. A few onlookers turned to look but no body spoke. “You mean my work?”

“Hobby.” The correction was sharp. “There will be no discussion on the topic.”

“Oh.” Phillip raised his glass of champagne as disappointment swelled in his chest. He knew it was unlikely that his Alpha would allow him to work, but it hurt, nonetheless. 

Byrne laughed, but it was cruel. “Well you won’t need it. I’m in need of heirs and given the child death rates I’ll require one a year.” The Alpha’s arm links around Phillip’s waist and pulls him close to his side. “So you’ll be too busy in the nursery.”

The image painted raises bile in Phillip’s throat. He attempts to politely remove himself from the Alpha’s hold but the arm is strong around his waist. At his subtle struggles, the Alpha growls lowly and lowers his head to Phillip’s neck. Teeth graze at the mating gland and Phillip stills instantly. The Alpha’s scent of bonfire and ash is sickly and –

“Byrne, I see your glass is empty!” Phillip’s mother’s voice is loud, edged slightly with possessiveness for her son and the alcohol she has consumed. “Phillip dear, be a good boy, and get more champagne for us.”

Eagerly accepting his mother’s escape route, Phillip nods and pulls away from the Alpha’s loosening hold. Without another word he leaves Byrne with his mother, aware that the Alpha won’t miss his absence when discussing business with his parents. When Phillip’s father joins them, he can overhear the conversation return to the marriage contract. 

As he weaves his way through the throng of people, a lightly yet delectable scent of shavings and whiskey, with a hint of peanuts takes Phillip by surprise. The scent is light, far too light to stand out amongst the crowds… He finds himself standing still, scenting the air and allowing the soothing scent to wash away the acrid bonfire and ash of Byrne. Phillip’s racing heart calms and he finds his posture, once stiff with alertness, relaxes. 

“Oh, sorry!” Phillip exclaims as a man and his wife push past him. They give him low looks of disgust. A daft Omega, unfit and unworthy of it’s place. It’s a look Phillip has gotten used to. 

He continues to make his way the champagne table where the scent of peanuts and shavings is stronger. This is the calmest Phillip has felt all evening and he leans against the wall. Out of his eye corner he sees Byrne and his parents deep in conversation. He hasn’t been missed. Phillip takes a glass of champagne and takes the first real taste of it. Free from Byrne, he can taste the bubbles as the fizz on his tongue and coolness of the liquid as it washes down his throat.

“Phineas Taylor Barnum.”

A strong hand is placed besides Phillip’s. It’s not the tanned skin or the strength in the breadth of the knuckles which causes Phillip to break years of training and meet the man’s eyes, but the scent. The scent is overwhelming and intoxicating, it makes Phillip’s knees go weak and he grabs onto the edge of the table to steady himself. A humiliating whimper slips past his open lips. That scent… It’s uniquely Alpha and creates a picture of security and belonging in Phillip’s mind. He takes a deep breath in, allows it to settle into his lungs and clam his racing heart. It’s like home. It is home.

Before he can stop himself, he’s falling into that scent and strong arms catch at his shoulder’s to allow social decorum to remain. 

“Hey, steady now.” The baritone voice is smooth and has humour behind it but for once it’s not aimed at Phillip. “You can’t do this here. Not that I don’t want to, I do, but we’re attracting attention.”

The words abruptly bring Phillip from his stupor and he quickly rights his posture. His eyes flit back to the ground and he tenses for the reprimand from the Alpha. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what came over me.” Phillip turns to collect the champagne he came for. 

Before he can reach for two glasses, the warm hand reaches for his elbow. “Wait, don’t run.” As if he could run. Phillip hangs on the Alpha’s words, unable to do anything else but what he asks. “Look at me, don’t look at the floor with eyes as stunning as yours.” A finger under his chin raises Phillip’s eyes. 

Hazel eyes meet Phillip’s with a look of amusement and something deeper. Something more instinctual that Phillip’s inexperience can’t place. The Alpha’s skin burns Phillip’s where it touches, and the briefest of contact causes warmth in Phillip’s chest. 

The Alpha – Phineas – Phillip corrects himself, is older but carries himself with an air of someone much younger, much lighter, with much more freedom that Phillip has ever seen. His thick dark hair is unruly, untamed, but it suits the man and yet no strand looks out of place.

“Can I ask your name?” Phillip blinks dumbly, only now aware of his lack of response. 

“Phillip Carlyle.” Phillip’s lessons in small talk and decorum fail him. “I’m sorry. I’m normally better at conversation than this.”

Phineas shakes his head. “Stop apologising, you’ve nothing to apologise for.” A brief look of concentration and then, “you’re the playwright, aren’t you?”

“I used to be,” the words are tinged with sadness and he briefly breaks eye contact to look for Byrne. The man is still engrossed with conversations with his father. Only his mother has noticed his absence, but she smiles softly in Phillip’s direction. “My intended, plans to stop that.”

A dark look clouds Phineas’ face and Phillip can’t help but take a step back. At the movement the Alpha reaches out, fingers curling around nothing. “It’s my turn to apologise, I’m sorry. Please, don’t be scared.” Phillip relaxes once more, a part of him unable to do anything but trust the Alpha’s words. “You’ve got talent, Phillip. You shouldn’t stop. Don’t stop because of him.”

Phillip raises an eyebrow. “And say no to an Alpha? You clearly don’t live in this world, Phineas.”

“That’s because I don’t. You’ve heard of the circus yes?” Phillip nods. He’s heard of the stories; of the people his father would describe as ‘abominations’ being placed centre stage as acts. To others it might seem uncouth, but Phillip has heard of their happiness, o the acceptance they have found within their own unit. “We don’t live by societies rules. We can be anything we want to be.”

“But I can’t be, I’m to be married and bonded.”

Again the darkness comes into Phineas’ eyes. If Phillip wasn’t mistaken, he saw flickers of red within the hazel. “Tell me if I’m wrong, Phillip, and I’ll go now. But you don’t want this, do you?”

It’s the first time anyone has asked Phillip what he wants in regards to the marriage and bond. But a complete stranger, with an enticing scent, has seen through Phillip. Has seen his need and distress. Phillip’s eyes well with tears.

“I thought so.” Again the warm hand is on Phillip’s elbow. He takes comfort from the action. “Meet me tonight, after the recital. The bar across the road. I promise you’ll be safe. And I’ll give you an offer you can’t refuse.”

And then Phineas leaves turns and leaves, a glass of champagne in his hand as the organisers call for people to take their seats.


End file.
